


Giving Up

by dontlikedarkness



Category: Total Drama (Cartoon)
Genre: F/M, Realization, Running Away
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:22:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24892318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dontlikedarkness/pseuds/dontlikedarkness
Summary: She smiled at herself in the mirror, watching behind curled lashes as her sister finished up on the last curl. She raked her fingers through it, satisfied when it bounced into place, natural but not pretentious. Not a strand out of place.Silence filled the room, heavy and demanding. She hummed along to the faint noise of the radio while her veil was pinned into place, hoping to avoid the questions she knew they all had.“Are you sure you want to go through with this?”in which courtney finds freedom in unexpected places.
Relationships: Alejandro Burromuerto/Courtney, Courtney/Duncan (Total Drama), Gwen/Zoey (Mentioned)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 33





	Giving Up

**Author's Note:**

> once again, thanks to an anon for giving me the prompt for this! i'm currently struggling through a bit of writer's block, so it was good to churn something out. check out my tumblr under the same name for more :)

It wasn’t supposed to turn out like this. None of it was. She hadn’t budgeted for mistakes; hadn’t budgeted for split-second decisions, nor for infuriatingly charming strangers.

Everything was planned, down to the very last minute. It would be a simple wedding - classic, traditional, and no-nonsense. Her dress was white and plain, flattering but not extravagant. The cake was three tiers in all, with pretty lace-patterned fondant. Vanilla. And vanilla frosting. White tablecloths, red roses, four bridesmaids and four groomsmen. It was symmetrical, it was organized; it was  _ perfect _ .

She smiled at herself in the mirror, watching behind curled lashes as her sister finished up on the last curl. She raked her fingers through it, satisfied when it bounced into place, natural but not pretentious. Not a strand out of place.

Silence filled the room, heavy and demanding. She hummed along to the faint noise of the radio while her veil was pinned into place, hoping to avoid the questions she knew they all had.

“Are you sure you want to go through with this?”

Bridgette was shushed rather quickly, but the damage was done.

She stood, smoothing an invisible crinkle in the lap of her dress. Her smile was carefully crafted - meant to exude an air of contentedness, a mask to cover the nerves currently churning up her insides. She was glad, now, that Heather had insisted on one last tequila shot while she was still an unmarried woman. She’d need the courage.

“I love him.” Not at a lie.

She did love him. Always had. They’d grown up together - had first met as children, barely old enough to be in school, tailing after their parents at what had likely been a business meeting, but had been proposed as a playdate.

He’d flashed her that winning smile as she peered between her father’s legs, and she’d been sold. Had thrown a tantrum, in her own right, when it had come time for him to go home. The look on her nanny’s face when she had  _ pouted _ , quivering lip and all, had been priceless.

Her father’s company went ahead with the plans to merge, and suddenly, they were seeing a lot more of each other. Birthday parties, company dinners - they rode it all out together. Having a familiar face in a sea of unfamiliar ones was a source of comfort. Having been sheltered her whole life, kept out of the public eye and away from the prying eyes of the media, he was a welcomed friend.

The first time a boy broke her heart, she cried to him. In turn, he confided in her. His older brother was the favorite; he felt neglected and alone - and he could  _ talk  _ to her. They could talk to each other. Neither of them could find that elsewhere.

Soon enough, they were both off to college. She was to be a lawyer, and he was preparing to take over the business. They kept in touch throughout it all, even as she made new friends, and found her place, away from home.

The rumors started slowly. A quick catch-up over coffee was branded ‘ _ Childhood Friends Reconnect _ ’; a dance together at a charity event became ‘ _ Alejandro and Courtney: Heating Things Up? _ ’

She didn’t quite know how to feel. Their parents were ecstatic; they could turn their business into a legacy, should they have children. Her college friends were jealous - “Courtney keeps all the pretty men for herself,” Heather would scoff, while Bridgette would only cast her a knowing glance. Everyone had made their minds up for them, without bothering to press for the truth. Alejandro, for his part, did little to dispel the gossip. Every time she tuned into a news channel he would be there, stoking the fires. “We’ve been friends our whole lives,” he told one reporter. “I could do worse,” he told another. There were no outright admissions, but he didn’t deny anything, either.

It shouldn’t have come as a surprise to her when he crashed her graduation ceremony, flashing her a flirty wink and making sure to kiss her cheek for the cameras. “Why don’t we give the public what they want?” He asked her, once they were in private. “I have dinner reservations tomorrow night. 7 o’clock. Black tie. If you’re dressed when I come to pick you up, I’ll have my answer.”

She was ashamed to admit that she’d gone with it. But she’d suffered rejection and heartache enough times to know better than to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Besides - he was the perfect candidate. He was handsome, she’d give him that, and she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t attracted to him. He was charismatic, and incredibly intelligent - he could whip up an argument and win it fast enough to leave anyone reeling in the aftermath. Her parents approved of him. As did her friends, and the media, and as much of the viewing world as bothered to pay attention to the lives of rich corporate kids. So she went along with it. Played the part of the complacent girlfriend, hanging happily off the man’s arm. She played the part so well that soon, not even she could tell fact from fiction.

He was kind. Charming. Treated her well. One glance from him had her melting. Dinner dates became something she looked forward to; holidays were easier, with him by her side. What they’d felt for each other as friends translated well into something more.

Maybe it was a pretty lie she told herself, to keep herself happy. And sane. But her future depended on this man - being with him allowed to control herself, in a way her father never would’ve allowed otherwise. Alejandro knew how ruthless he could be, how self-centered and cruel, and in turn, he allowed her to make her own decisions. To be her own person. Freedom was something she’d never tasted before, and she liked the way it felt on her tongue. No longer was she a pawn in her father’s schemes, surviving by bargaining her way out, and pushing back where she could. It was a fine line she’d been forced to walk, and she relished the chance to spread her wings.

She loved the freedom, and he seemed to be a part of the deal, so she loved him, too.

Gwen laid a gentle hand on her shoulder, startling her from her thoughts. A dangerous path, indeed.

Gwen was likely the only person in the room who knew how she really felt. All of it, not just the sugar-coated lies she told herself and everyone around her. She’d been privy to many a drunken call, when Courtney had known Heather would be too harsh and Bridgette would be too gentle. She needed someone to listen, not someone to coax her through it, nor someone to bring her to her senses.

The others cleared out of the room, and she turned, blinking rapidly to clear her eyes of tears before Gwen could notice. “I’m ready,” she reassured her. And she was. She was ready to be fully her own person, to finally have some agency in where she went and with whom she associated and what she wore, without her father breathing down her back, telling her it would reflect poorly on him; on the company.

She took a deep breath as Gwen, too, left the room. This was it. Once her father had given her away, she’d be clear. She only had to make it down the aisle, say those two words, and she’d be herself again. Just Courtney - nobody else. No expectations.

She carried herself with pride as she made her way towards the church doors, her train bundled up in her fists to keep it from dragging. There were ten minutes until the official start of the ceremony, and her father wouldn’t be there any sooner.

If he was anything, it was punctual.

“In a hurry, princess?”

She stumbled, knocked off-balance by the stranger’s sudden intrusion into her thoughts. He held out a hand, and she took it, holding it long enough to notice the calluses there, on his palm. The bite of cold metal from his rings was in stark contrast to the warmth of her skin, and she found her breath hitching as she steadied herself.

“A friend of Gwen’s, then,” she mused out loud, taking in his less-than-professional attire. Given the metal in his face and the green dye in his unkempt hair, wrangling him into a suit that was even semi-presentable had to have been a feat of sheer will and strength on Gwen’s part. “What makes you say that?” He asked, flashing her a smirk that sent her weak in the knees.  _ Get it together, Courtney,  _ she chided herself.  _ You’re spoken for. _

“Yeah, I’m a friend of Gwen’s. Her girlfriend couldn’t make it, so I’m the designated plus one.”

“Zoey,” she breathed, barely registering half of what he was saying. Like hell the redhead couldn’t make it. She knew Zoey well, and she knew she wouldn’t miss a friend’s wedding for the world.  _ Unless Gwen had other plans,  _ she realized, dark brown eyes widening with recognition.

She whirled upon the man before he had the chance to say more, thrusting an accusatory finger against his chest. “She thinks I’d like you,” she hissed, glaring daggers at him. “Wants me to call off the wedding.” He threw his hands up in defeat, a wicked grin blossoming across his stupid, scruffy face. “No idea what you’re talking about, snowflake,” - a glance at her white attire - “but Gwen seems to have hidden motives for almost everything she does. She’s cheeky, I’ll give her that.”

His eyes softened at the panicked way she moved, nerves and adrenaline combining to tell her to get the hell out of there,  _ now.  _ He gripped her arms so that she’d have to stop moving, just for a second, and really  _ look  _ at him. “I’m Duncan,” he told her, after a beat of silence. “And you’re looking a little too pale for my liking.”

He didn’t move - didn’t try anything, as if waiting for some sort of invisible cue.

It could’ve been the way he carried himself; cool, collected, confident, like he could do whatever he wanted and not worry about anyone stopping him. It could’ve been that she was already searching for an escape, subconsciously, at least, and the shock of seeing somebody so clearly out of place at her wedding was what finally shook her awake. But the tears she’d been holding back for so long fell freely then, and she looked at him, pleading, with a rawness she rarely showed.

“I can’t be here,” she told him, voice hoarse. She didn’t stop him when he took her hand, clenching it so tightly that his knuckles turned white. Didn’t question him when he pushed through those large oak doors, away from the guests waiting inside. She didn’t say a damn thing as he marched her down those stairs, a quiet intensity having replaced the nonchalant look he wore so well.

Never in a million years could she have planned for this. Here she was - a long ways away from the church where she was supposed to be getting married to a man she didn’t love, in a venue she had no attachment to. Her dress was muddy at the bottom, and her veil had come loose several blocks ago, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care.

“I’m free,” she called to the world, half chuckling as her hair whipped about her. She drank in the countryside flying past them, obscured as it was by the motorcycle helmet, wrapping her arms a little tighter around a man she’d never met before, going lord knows where.

He hadn’t saved her. She’d saved herself. He’d merely provided the opportunity.


End file.
